


The Man With A Monster, Who Was Loved In Spite Of It

by jlpierre



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Muggle, Anxiety, Anxiety Disorder, Boys In Love, Depression, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, References to Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, past self-harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-10-23 22:38:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17692424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jlpierre/pseuds/jlpierre
Summary: Remus has been given a once in a lifetime chance to study again, but the scars—and the past that came with them—threaten to ruin his chance.[Please read Notes and Tags before continuing]





	The Man With A Monster, Who Was Loved In Spite Of It

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to my beta, RuArcher. 
> 
> **TW: Mentions of Past Self-Harming, Mentions of Past Suicidal Thoughts, Depression, Anxiety, Mental Breakdown  
> **  
>  Prompt from Remus Lupin Fest: Remus has a breakdown

Remus _knew_ he was worrying again.

It had been the same for months. Every day, even when his smile would be wide and his laughter would meet the air, Remus _would_ be worrying. He'd be thinking of the pages he hadn't read yet, the information he didn't feel he knew all that well and the exam questions that he knew he couldn't prepare for truly, not knowing which ones were coming.

It had happened the night prior, when Remus had been holding his knife and fork, attempting to cut into his steak as James told a harrowing tale from his latest sports game, and Remus found his palms becoming sweaty for, _absolutely_ , no reason. Even when he'd found himself able to listen, _and reply_ , Remus' mind had also been busy thinking about homework—about the books he _needed_ to return to the library. He'd found his heart thumping in his chest, his pulse wild in his neck, and he wondered how no one saw it.

It happened even now when Sirius' eyes met his across the bedroom, and Sirius seemed to wear a look Remus couldn't quite identify at first glance, even less when he stared back to try and work his boyfriend out. He half-expected Sirius to ask if he was okay, but he didn't, like he never did—almost as though he _knew_ that Remus _wasn't_.

For all the times Sirius seemed like he knew Remus wasn't okay, there were always times when he didn't. When he'd take face-value and ignore that there was a war going on inside of Remus—whether he couldn't see it, or chose to ignore it, Remus _never_ knew. He also didn't want to ask, somewhat terrified of the answer and what it could mean.

He could feel him looking at him now, grey eyes burning holes into him. Remus knew Sirius would be bitterly disappointed at what appeared through them; Sirius would expect light, rainbows even, but instead, he'd find darkness, a bewitching sludge that would draw him in and eat Sirius alive. It would taint him, mark him a victim of Remus' mind and carelessly spoken words.

Sirius would regret being with him in the end, they always did. Remus' anxiety had _proved_ time and time again that it would push away those he cared until they had no choice but to walk away or cling on for dear life. It was only Sirius who hadn't yet. But he would one day, because people always left.

 _Always_.

Remus turned the page, having taken nothing in, doing his best 'fake' reading impression for the last fifteen minutes. His goal had been to study, to _quell_ some of the anxiety he had been feeling by actually studying. It didn't seem to be working, especially when Sirius had followed him to keep him ' _company'_. Remus suspected it was more for Sirius than for himself, but he didn't say that; he just nodded, letting his boyfriend traipse behind him.

"I think you _need_ to relax a bit, Moony. Take a break, chill."

Remus grit his jaw hard before he even realised, looking up to see Sirius playing with _James'_ basketball. The hairs on the back of Remus' neck had risen, standing on edge as irritation reached a new height, climbing and climbing until it pulled at his hair. His muscles tensed further with each bounce of the ball against the wall, so much so, Remus thought he'd snap clean in half at any second, his bones turned to ash.

"They're _just_ exams."

Gripping the edges of his book tighter, Remus let out a frustrated sigh as he felt the hard edges mark his skin, almost cutting into him, leaving bloodied stains along the pages.

Don't say it. Don't even think it.

He tried to breathe, but the ball continued to thud, echoing around his mind as Remus struggled to contain himself, struggled to hold back the monster that lived beneath his skull. "To _you, Sirius_ , maybe. But to me—can you put the fucking ball down!"

Sirius rolled onto his front, capturing the ball with ease on his finger as he fluttered his eyelashes, listening to Remus' request but seeming unfazed by his tone. "We could go have some fun instead, learn some _biology_?" His brows wiggled as Remus slid his jaw from side to side.

He wasn't listening to him. _Again_.

It didn't matter how often Remus explained how he felt about his education, Sirius just _didn't_ seem to understand. He had tried telling him, he had tried writing it down, Remus had even tried drawing it and then folding the paper into an aeroplane all to hit Sirius in the head. Not that it would work, it would _never_ work.

Nothing, _not_ a thing, ever seemed to sink in.

"What?" Sirius asked, brushing his hair behind his ears as he threw his legs around, sitting on the end of his bed. He was shirtless _again_ another distraction Remus was trying desperately to ignore—although, Remus was unsure when Sirius had even removed it. "You have that expression again."

Remus licked his lips, trying hard not to let his nostrils flare. " _What_ expression?"

Sirius smirked half-heartedly. "The one where you're pissed at something."

 _Oh, so he understands some things, then._ "I'm not pissed—"

"Then what?" Sirius asked, not caring for how much Remus hated being interrupted mid-sentence.

Not even caring that Remus _had been_ and would _have_ been explaining _what_ was wrong. Slamming the book shut, he tried to breathe, tried to settle the anxious bubbles in his stomach before he vomited. Remus tried to stay in the room, remembering the things he had been taught from therapy as he tried to count; tried not to scratch his scalp or pick at his wrist. He tried, with all his might, to steady the rage that rumbled under the surface, because to Remus, this mattered—it all mattered. It all _meant_ something.

Sirius would never understand it, but Remus _wasn't_ supposed to be here. He had tried to explain the story once before, how he had been lined up to be homeschooled after the incident. He was _supposed_ to be taught by his father, far away from other students and external pressures that contributed to his decline. Remus wasn't _supposed_ to be at Hogwarts University, with friends and professors. Remus was meant to be in his room, pretending he didn't have scars up his arms and a darkness in his head that never vanished. Remus was _supposed_ to be alone, keeping the shame, he had brought on his family, to himself.

Sirius, and most likely James, _would never_ understand. They were from rich families, where their education and much more were all offered up on a plate. They'd probably be given jobs just for being _who_ they were, even if Sirius tried his damn hardest to not be a Black at all, he'd have a pick of the best crop regardless. But what would Remus have lined up, if there were no results to show he _could_ cope? Nothing.

He'd be looked at like the poor thing he was because no one would give someone with a mental health disorder anything—they'd be too afraid. The world didn't like people with cracked brains and demons living inside of them; people _hated_ what they didn't know. And when there were others who gave everyone a bad name, shouting of their mental health in the hope of avoiding punishment for the crimes they committed, who would even blame them? It wouldn't matter that Remus hadn't committed a single crime, he hadn't done anything to warrant attention being shone on him, and yet it was always there. It wouldn't make a blind bit of difference that Remus had received help.

Instead, he received special treatment by professors, ones who would keep him behind to remind him, ' _there's no need to put pressure on yourself'_ and, ' _we are always here if you need us'_. Remus never told them how he felt inside, how it wouldn't matter if they were there now, it would be later when it mattered. He'd instead smile, say thank you and leave.

Even when the words, 'it was _one_ time, one low moment', sat on his tongue, haunting him forever, he never let them meet the air. It didn't matter that it had happened two years ago, people still treated him like it only happened yesterday.

_You're not broken, Remus. Just a little lost on a path of darkness, but Hogwarts can be the light._

Dumbledore had spoken to him alone. At first, Remus had hated it, not enjoying the confined space of the conservatory with this man he didn't know. Remus only relaxed when he realised that Dumbledore was talking to him, not down to him. It was something that rarely happened, Remus had forgotten what it even sounded like.

Instead of hating him, Remus began to watch Dumbledore; observe how he pushed up his half-moon glasses, listening as he explained it was a _specialist_ university, where there were dormitories for the entire time he'd be studying years, and at the holidays he'd return home.

Then the words hit him that Remus had never heard. He had been chosen. Dumbledore had _chosen him._

Him. A normal boy from a _normal_ village, with an abnormal way of thinking.

_You're an intelligent boy, Remus. Not many of your age have acquired such skill, you'll thrive at Hogwarts._

Two years had flown by since then, fading and wilting away like sunlight from a summers day, Remus could still recall how quickly his parents had packed his bags for him, even if everything else was harder to remember. ' _It will be good for you'_ and ' _you'll enjoy it, Remus. Think of all the books'._ He thought of those words a lot when sleep didn't come easy, technically his parents _hadn't_ been wrong and Dumbledore himself had a wide collection he _occasionally_ shared with Remus. He found he only earned the right to one if he solved a puzzle of some sort, but each time he did, Dumbledore would look at him with such wonder, and Remus would always find a shiver running sporadically up his spine.

He trusted Dumbledore, even if others didn't. James had a warped opinion of the President of Hogwarts University, and Sirius had bitterly told him once that the only time he saw the inside of Dumbledore's office was when he was in trouble. At first, Remus had been taken back, unsure as to why he would be chosen? Him, of all the great minds here? Like Lily who was amazing at chemistry; James who was fantastic at mathematics, applying it to his role on the Campus' football team. Then there was Sirius, an artist of all means—digital, painting—and Peter who was a whizz at electronics.

Then there was him, _Remus_. The all-rounder. The one who preferred history and English over anything else, hence why he chose a dual-degree; the one who had to study by torch most nights just to keep up. Things didn't come as easy to him, and the pressure of that pressed on his bones every day. It dug itself deeper into his insecurities, a constant battle of talking himself out of failure. The medication _helped_ , even if it made the room slide out from under him when he took it. It relaxed every muscle, one-by-one; it silenced his mind, it stilled his senses. He slept better than he had ever done when he had been given the little slice of yellow-heaven.

"I need some fresh air," Remus said abruptly, standing up with sunken shoulders, feeling his legs shake beneath him, desperate to give in and crumble back down on to the bed.

He kept his eyes on the ground as he pulled his hoodie sleeves tighter around his hands, he didn't even cast Sirius a glance as he walked past him. Sirius—the _love_ of his life that crept up on him. The man who had figuratively and physically stolen his breath almost six months ago when he kissed him.

" _I think you're ridiculously adorable."_

" _I think you're drunk, Black."_

" _Nah, drunk on you—ugh, that's corny."_

" _Just a little."_

" _But, if I'm honest,"_ Sirius said, rubbing the back of his head, "I think it's _always been you, Moony. It will always be you to, if you want, like, want it to be?_

Remus very much doubted it would be a _forever_ sort of love. One day, Sirius would rise from his bed—his hair stuck in various directions—and would question what on _Earth_ he was doing with the likes of Remus Lupin, a man from nothing who would achieve nothing. Sirius would reflect on whether it was worth being around someone who hated himself most of the time and would undoubtedly consider if Remus was worth all the sadness he brought to his life.

The soles of Remus' shoes echoed on the staircase as he brushed past other students in the common area, ones he tried not to make eye contact with— _desperately_ not to touch anyone. He needed to be alone, although he wasn't sure why; he needed air, cool air, not the sort he had to share with others. Remus needed the sound of the wind running through the trees and he needed space, an abundance of it. Also, Remus needed the scent of baked goods, like what his mother made, and his bedroom—the one he _usually_ hated when he was in it—but now craved it more than anything

Remus realised, halting on the stairs as someone yelled, ' _what 'you doing dickhead? Fuck sake,'_ from behind him, that for at least a minute or two, Remus really didn't want to be himself. He wanted to be someone else—someone not plagued with itching under their skin when he was around too many people, or someone who didn't _need_ to have their back in the corner of a lift—just to exist. Remus registered, for the first time in a long time, that he didn't like himself again, and the scars on his wrists screamed at him, reminding him of how good and bad the first time had felt.

His thumb traced over them under his sleeve, tears welling up in his eyes as he tried to level his breathing. Remus wanted to be someone who _wasn't_ keeping everything together, who wasn't running from their secret, who wasn't broken. He was tired every _single_ second of every day, and he was sick of it. Remus wanted to be someone who didn't have a past—one his parents _tried_ to ignore. He wished, in a way, he had never put the blade to his wrist, and he wished he had never enjoyed the second or two after. Most of all, Remus wanted to be someone who could study in peace without thoughts popping up and distracting him. Remus didn't want to be him anymore, he was done, he wanted to exit the ride that was called life.

Although he knew if he thought about it for much longer, the tears that were threatening to spill would fall down his cheeks, and he'd think of Sirius and James. He'd think of Peter who gave the kindest hugs, and he'd think of Lily who didn't care about his scars. Remus would hear their laughter, and think of the joy they brought to him. He knew he'd miss them, all of them.

Especially Sirius.

His boyfriend, the one that meant no harm, and never did. The one who held him when Remus cracked and pieces began to fall; Sirius who had made Remus cry out in a way that wasn't from pain, for the first time in his life. Often, Sirius was the _only_ one who could calm him, bringing him peace to his otherwise hectic life. Sirius would make him smile and laugh, so richly, _so true_ , Remus knew he shouldn't be finding himself mad at him. If anything, Remus _should_ be mad at himself for being angry at someone who made his life better.

Continuing down the stairs, passing by the Fat Lady portrait—the one Remus spent countless hours reading beneath, staring up, wishing she could talk so he could know her story. He released a held breath as he darted down the corridor, his feet moving quicker and quicker, as though he _had_ somewhere to be, which he knew he didn't. It still didn't stop him from running down the staircase or impatiently tapping his foot as he waited for the other students to move as the staircases became impossibly thin.

Remus moved as though his life depended on it, although he wasn't sure why.

His heart thumped in his ears, creating a sound so close to a drum it caused his anxiety to increase. Even though Remus liked music, he liked losing himself to the fingers picking a guitar and the soft voices that accompanied acoustic music, Remus wasn't all that fond of drums. They echoed through his chest, making him feel hollow and empty; they created a sound that was both dull and lively, forcing confusion to swirl in his mind. Now, his own body was making its own music—making a sound only _he_ could hear—that brought him no joy, one that didn't relax or calm him. It was all worsened by the wild pulse beneath his skin, the building of a thin layer of perspiration falling over his face.

He was panicking, and _yet_ he had no reason too.

Remus stopped, halting his feet as he placed a hand on the exposed brick, feeling the chill from outside against his fingers. Hunching his back over, staring at his feet as his vision blurred, the curls of his hair meeting his brows, irritating him and soothing him all at once.

He was having _some sort_ of breakdown and again, he knew it was unlikely he had a reason for it. There was no explanation, no cause he _could_ identify, except it felt like last time, when he had received the letter; the one that told him he _wasn't_ good enough, the one that dashed his chances to study creative writing, the one that…

Remus clenched his eyes shut, everything _was_ fine. Remus _was_ fine.

Whatever was happening, it didn't ease by him stopping. So he reluctantly decided to continue, knowing if he curled into a ball here, people would worry. Concern was worse nausea, Remus knew that better than most. Trying to walk as normal as possible, not needing suspicious eyes to fall on him or concerned students stopping to ask if he was ' _alright'_ , Remus continued to seek the place he knew he'd find refuge. Because Remus hadn't been alright since birth, but he doubted anyone else would find that as funny as he did if they stopped him. He knew it helped to laugh in the face of his problems, even when no one else would join him; they were all serious, except Sirius, who was possibly the most un- _serious_ person of all. It's what made Remus like him to begin with, he didn't fit his name, and it had made him smile.

He wished Sirius was here, and he half-hoped Sirius would be stood in the entrance to the library, somehow knowing what Remus had meant by _fresh air_. He wasn't.

There was just Pince, the librarian; Remus tried not to show his dismay.

Everything became much more disappointing when the library door closed behind him, and the scent of books didn't calm him. Not the sight of their spines or the dull lighting that danced over the shelves of the library seemed to do anything. And even, when the chilly draught brushed over Remus' face, and the nausea that had been building slowly began to vanish—almost as though it was never there—Remus still _didn't_ feel better, except, he always usually did when he came here.

If anything, he felt weak—almost 'full-moon' weak, but not quite.

' _Full-moon_ ' was the name given to his episode. His mother had thought it would be better to call it that, but Remus suspected it was more for her benefit than his. She had brushed back his curls, telling him he was a wolf, a proud wolf, and even if he felt like a sheep in wolves' clothing he wasn't. Remus' mother, while loving and affectionate, wasn't someone who liked to talk about sad things, and so she appropriately called his 'attempt' a full-moon; a night where Remus wasn't himself, like the wolves weren't on a full moon.

Remus didn't tell her he hated it, even though he did. She had always preferred burying her head in the sand, pretending none of it existed, and Remus didn't want to be the one who dashed that way of life. Remus would find he'd be asked how he was, and he'd take one look at her and automatically reply, ' _I'm fine',_ as he wrapped his sleeves around his hands.

He did that a lot more now than he did then, wrapping his sleeves around his hands. He liked gloves, fewer germs, but his father had given him a stern talking to about wearing them at such a prestigious school. The only person who didn't seem to mind them was Dumbledore. Remus even found that he handed him a pair when Remus entered his office, ' _Our little secret_ '.

For a while, it had been, just theirs—Dumbledore and Remus' little secret. Then Remus told Sirius, and instead of laughing, as Remus expected, Sirius dug into his trunk—the ridiculous thing Sirius preferred over drawers—and handed him a pair. 'You can always be yourself with me, _Moony_.'

Remus had flinched at first under the nickname, wishing he had never told Sirius about the ' _full-moon'_ thing. But slowly, it had grown on him, all of them adopting names that reflected who they thought they were. Now, although Remus pretended he did, he didn't actually hate the nickname.

Pince made eye-contact, her beetle black eyes narrowing, wondering why he was just stood there—in truth, Remus wasn't sure, so he sighed, and decided to press on. He walked towards the first row of tables, making a beeline for a row of books—any ones, not caring which genre. He wanted to run his finger down a spine, be warmed by the feel of his _first_ friends—ones that never slept and were always there when he needed them. Remus needed to touch them, be surrounded by more, and be alone with just one. He had found it wasn't the same in the shared bedroom when he held a book in his hands, not like it was like when he was home, surrounded by green hills and smaller trees. The books here questioned him, made his skull prickle and his senses sharpen.

At home, they weren't _testing_ him or forcing themselves to be read.

Remus wondered if he was going mad; if the pressure to do well had cracked his head in half—he wondered if the _flesh reflected the madness within._

He shook that idea away, nestling down in a corner, pressing his back against the cold wall as he laid out a large book over his lap. He didn't let his eyes meet the words at first, simply placing his palms on the pages as he sighed, taking long deep breath ins. Slowly, he let his fall down, reading the title at the top of the right page, dead centre, in a font that should be charming, 'The Boggart', it read.

He snorted because only Remus could pick a book on something he had never heard of. He couldn't have picked a book he'd understand with ease.

Sirius found him later while Remus was several chapters into the book. He had been overly grateful for Sirius' interruption, ' _The Boggart_ ' was both confusing and fictional, and Remus couldn't quite decide how he felt about continuing. A book about fear, the main character facing a closeted shape-shifter didn't settle the hairs that had been permanently stood on end since earlier.

His boyfriend was wearing that look, the one that Remus wanted to hide from. He assumed it was after dinner because Remus' stomach had growled and the windows had darkened. The scent of devoured food rested on Sirius' lips as he lowered to the floor and let out a heavy sigh, and Remus _hated_ that he could smell it, to begin with, feeling more like a freak than he ever had done. _Normal_ people didn't smell things from a metre away; normal people didn't hide out in libraries to avoid conversations with their boyfriend—or maybe they did. Maybe everything Remus felt was _normal,_ like his mother had said, and maybe it was others who were abnormal, instead of him. It was unlikely—it was all impossible, even.

"You want to tell me what's going on or do you plan on running away from me again?"

Until now, Remus hadn't noticed the green apple in Sirius' hand—only catching sight of it when he threw it in the air, catching it quickly before repeating the cycle again. There was a line across Sirius' forehead, one that was rarely there and combined with his sunken eyes, Remus could only guess Sirius was worried.

People were _always_ worried about him.

From his mother to his father, professors to friends, and now Sirius. God, did Remus hate _that_ look on him. It made something rise inside of himself, weaving in and out of his organs, wrapping his entire self in some web he'd not be able to escape. It constricted his breath, his chest unable to rise as high as it usually could.

Sighing, Remus kept his eyes on Sirius' as he slowly lowered himself to the floor, mirroring Remus who was sat on the floor—surrounded by books. He assumed that if he saw any of his friends sat like he was, he'd be worried too.

"I just _needed_ to study," Remus said, deadpanned.

Sirius cocked his brow before handing Remus the apple. "Is it frowned upon to swear in your sacred place, Remus?"

 _Remus._ Sirius rarely ever used his name. Not even when their legs were tangled together beneath the sheets; not even when Sirius' mouth was close to his ear, and his release was in the palm of his hand. Remus hated the way his name hit his ears, it didn't sound right—especially when it came from him.

"I'm going to do it anyway," Sirius continued, "I call _bullshit."_

He wanted to snort, because of _course,_ Sirius would. "Doing _well_ matters to me."

Another poor excuse, but Remus was lost at what else to say. He felt like he was out in the middle of the lake, furiously trying to stay afloat as unidentifiable objects and seaweed dragged him down, trying to pull him under the murky waters. He still didn't understand why Sirius had forced him to swim in it, it looked dirty—it _was_ dirty. The only benefit that Remus had found was seeing Sirius shirtless, something then that wasn't as frequent as it was now.

"Remus, none of us _want_ to fail. Even Prongs has his chemistry book open—and Evans hasn't even forced him to do that. Wormtail is currently getting tutored by _some_ 'Puff. We _all_ want to do well because we all want to do _good_ when we are outside of these walls, but we aren't killing ourselves to do it."

Remus was set to speak, to dispute that he was ' _killing himself',_ when Sirius raised his hand.

"You've missed dinner, and yesterday you missed breakfast. _Breakfast_ ," Sirius added. "You spouted, for an entire three months, that ' _breakfast_ was the most _important,_ meal of the day'. You said that, you."

Remus felt his cheeks redden, his ears burn. "I remember."

Sirius offered a smile as he let his shoulders sink. "I'm not really _good_ with emotional needs, Moony. I won't even bullshit you, it's the fucking worst. But I'm _trying,_ alright? It may not be good enough, and you may want me to piss off—but I'm trying."

Remus bit down on the inside of his mouth, both in punishment and to stop himself from replying with the first thing he thought up. He _knew_ if he replied immediately, there would be a good chance he'd say something hot-headed and said in stressed-anger that he didn't mean. Remus did it a lot; although he didn't intend to.

"I know."

Sighing, Sirius rubbed his temple. "So, wanna… fill me in?"

Remus didn't.

Not even a little bit, but he supposed he better. "Have you _ever_ questioned your existence, Padfoot? Have you ever felt your mind snap under the weight of everything?"

From the look on Sirius' face, he hadn't. Remus hadn't been surprised by that, not everyone else did. No one generally found themselves in the midst of a crystallizing moment or a mental breakdown. Remus had been lucky to experience one of both already, and he had been sure—before he ran off—he was set to have another, and possibly the 'weird' moment he had before he sat down here was something close to a breakdown.

"I have," Remus continued, burying his hands in his hoodie pocket. "My hands were clammy, and I couldn't think. Words weren't words, numbers weren't numbers, I felt so… _irritated_ , out-of-control; I knew I had detached from everything, just surviving somehow, and I had no idea why."

He rolled his chapped lips together, hating the way they felt, wanting to pull on the skin until his mouth burned and copper filled his throat.

Remus met Sirius' eyes, although it was a struggle. "I promised myself I'd do good, somehow. I know I put too much pressure on myself and I know I try to please everyone—I even know, as much as I want to fit in with you lot, sometimes we go to far. But I can't stop myself..." Looking down, staring at the worn spine of a book beside Sirius, Remus sighed. "What even is the point of me coming here, of being in an academic scenario, if I fuck it up, Pads?"

Sirius didn't speak; he didn't even move.

"Dumbledore gave me a chance… I can't let him down," Remus added in a whisper, his voice cracking. "I can't let _anyone_ who believes in me, down. I'm scared—I don't want to be how I was before again, Padfoot. I can't get back in the hole—the one I built, the one that gave me these scars and made my chest hurt."

Sirius let his words wash over him, not moving, except to blink. Remus half-wanted him to, just for some noise that wasn't his own thoughts. But Sirius was being true to his words, he was trying.

Letting out a sharp breath, Sirius cleared his throat, and Remus lifted his head marginally. "I won't let that happen, Moony. Not while I'm here."

Remus wanted to dispute that, he had no control over what happened—or what Remus thought behind closed minds. Even Remus couldn't control them, it's why he got himself into messy situations, it was why he had to be medicated, and see a therapist, and write his feelings down—

"Look at me," Sirius said firmly, but with kindness to it, that didn't frighten him. "Remus, please look at me." And Remus did. "Being aware of what you were like before will stop you from becoming that. You're aware of how dark things can get, and how easy it is to turn on the light. Remus," Sirius laughed lightly, "you're not alone with your elderly parents now. You have me, you have Prongs and Wormtail. You have brothers, friends, and even Evans."

Remus began to nod in agreement, not sure why, but also not overthinking it.

"You're not alone _anymore_ ," Sirius whispered, edging closer as he touched Remus' knee. "I won't let you be alone, I need you—otherwise what do I have when the world goes dark? The star needs the moon; the dog needs his wolf."

Smiling, Remus felt his cheeks blush. "I _hate_ that analogy."

Shrugging, Sirius winked. "I know, but it made you look alive for a second—"

"—Don't say it—"

"—You're almost _moon-coloured_ , Moony," Sirius laughed.

He swallowed, feeling an ease fall over him, the monsters within his mind retreating to their wispy corners as Sirius brandished fire, threatening to burn them all; the hairs that had been stuck up, melted back to their places, and even the perspiration on Remus' palms seemed to ease, his skin almost feeling like… skin.

Remus shook his head. "You're a twat sometimes."

Sirius winked, a cocky grin replacing the concerned one from earlier. "Ah, but Moony, I'm your twat. So who is the bigger twat?"

He wanted to laugh, it grew in his chest, unweaving the anxiousness from his chest, letting his lungs properly take air in and out. A warmth emitted from the look Sirius brandished him with, it spread through his blood, heating his bones and melting the frost his darker thoughts had spread. Remus began to feel like Remus, a different version, a stronger version.

"Moony, you want to go get something to eat?"

Remus nodded as Sirius stood, brushing down his black jeans—the one he used for trousers instead of following the rules—and held out his hand for Remus to take.

Taking it _should_ have been easy, he eyed it, eyed Sirius.

Take his hand, Remus.

Just take it.

Remus cleared his throat, painting a smile on his face as he released all the angst in his mind and slowly, placed his palm against Sirius'. He welcomed the feel of Sirius' fingers moulding in between his after he had pulled Remus to his feet. Remus smiled at the impossible heat coming from Sirius' body as he curled into him, letting his boyfriend lead him out of the library.

He braced as they exited, expecting the monster within to resurface and drown him, but it didn't. Sirius met his stare, a confident smile on his face—almost as though he could read his thoughts.

"I've got you, Moony. I've always got you."

For once, Remus believed him, pressing a bumpy, soft kiss to Sirius' cheek as they walked; Sirius placed his arm around Remus' shoulder, and Remus hoped Sirius let him go. His monster-fighter, his darkness battler, his boyfriend.

"I love you, Pads," Remus said softly.

Sirius didn't turn his head to meet Remus' stare, but his cheeks flushed with a soft pink as his eyes widened a little. "I love you, Moony."

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

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> 


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